A Study of Opposites
by comeonbabyplaymesomething
Summary: Oneshot. Post finale. Elena decides to let loose, and Damon decides to help.


**Another weird oneshot inspired by the finale.**

**Disclaimer: Wish I did. But I don't.**

**A Study of Opposites**

It's the wrong decision. She knows the minute her throat starts to burn. But she swallows and takes another gulp anyway. And the vodka goes down smoother.

She beginning to realize it's always easier the second time around.

She's supposed to be the responsible one. The example. But she's getting more then tired of the "buck up champ" routine. She just needs this one night. There are so many things she's dying to forget. So she's getting drunk. And everybody, including her conscious, can just deal with it.

She starts again. Neater this time. Employing the shot glass she has in her coat pocket. She drinks to Jenna, with dead eyes and a stake through her heart. To Jeremy, who's seeing ghosts of girlfriends past, as if at sixteen he hasn't been through enough. To Alaric, whose loved two women in his life, and had them both die a total of four times. To Katherine, for being cold enough to realize affection makes you weak, and smart enough not to fall victim. To Stefan, for leaving with Klaus, but not before draining a teenage girl dry in the Mystic Grill parking lot.

And, of course, she toasts herself, because everything stated above is her fault.

The grass is cold against her back as she eases to the ground. She used to be good at having fun. She used to know how to disregard everything and just lose herself in a moment. But that had been when her problems consisted of a bitchy algebra teacher and a missed curfew. Before her parents had plowed off a bridge and she'd fallen in love with a vampire. Or, she should say, vampires.

The stars are bright and the moon is high. But it doesn't matter. She has fewer and fewer people wondering where she is. Caring about Elena Gilbert is becoming harder. And she can't help but fear the moment when people will realize she has never been worth it. When everyone she loves will look at how much they've suffered for knowing her, and decide they'd have been better off if they never had.

When she will be alone with her suffering. Once and for all.

She knows he's there before he speaks. Because they're the only ones left. And even though he's as silent as a ghost she'd know him with her eyes closed. In darkness and in blinding light. She is all he has now. And he's on the shortened list of things she can call her own too.

"It's not nice to sneak up on people," she slurs. And takes another swig for effect. Because she'd forgotten to drink to him. To his almost second death and the utter terror it had caused her. As if life weren't confusing enough.

"Drowning our sorrows?" He's nonjudgmental. Because if there's anyone who's been there before, it's him. On numerous, numerous occasions.

"No," she wants to shake her head for emphasis, but talking is hard enough, "They _were_ drowning me." She tilts her head back to look up at where he's looming over her and smiles cheekily, "Now I'm winning."

He takes a seat next to her in the grass and eyes the open bottle, now half empty, leaning precariously against her hip. Guessing his intentions she turns on her side to face him and wraps the vodka tightly in her arms. "Don't even think about it," she snaps, although she's hardly formidable in her current state. And it's more a plea then a threat anyway.

He smiles, a little frustrated a little impressed, and lies down on his side too. A safe distance away, because he's smart enough to know she needs that, but close enough to feel her warm breath on his face. He'll ignore its saturation with alcohol for now. He knows she'll feel bad enough for both of them in the morning.

"It's a long walk up here for a human," he comments casually, although they both know he's fishing, "And _not_ a very fun place to get drunk." He doesn't talk about the danger because he knows she all too well aware of everything that goes bump in the night. He can't decide how to feel about her lack of self preservation. It's an instinct she doesn't have, and he can't help but be grateful. Because he likes her like this, relaxed and peaceful with him near. It's selfish, but he's glad she doesn't have the good sense to run away screaming.

She sighs, and decides to give him an explanation. He'd cared enough to find her in the dead of night. The least she can do is reward him with an answer to his question, whether either of them likes it or not.

However, she's still not drunk enough to brave holding his gaze as she elaborates. So she looks down, finds a blade of grass, and studies it like it's infinitely more interesting than his endless dark eyes. "He brought me here," she murmurs, "right before the ritual." She's wistful and contemplative and so, so sad. And her voice is hollow as she finishes, "And we watched the sunset." Another gulp. He suppresses a wince but doesn't otherwise comment, and she's more than grateful.

She doesn't know why she starts to cry. She'd come to forget. But all her buzz is doing is forcing her to remember. Three women, kicking and screaming, each one waiting their turn to die. To be drained, staked, and torn. Sacrifices and bravery and _so_ many mistakes. She has endless tears for every single second. A night that will never end, because she will _never_ be able to forget.

He lets out a breath of exasperation. He wants to tell her he's seen worse. But it'd be a lie. Nothing is worse than watching her heart break right in front of him. So instead he reaches forward and wipes her tears, commenting with a fake smirk, "Stefan was always big on grand gestures."

He laughs, to himself, because in her current state she is beyond amusement, "I can't be too hard on him, though, given that his knack for self sacrifice is the reason _I'm_ still alive."

He waggles his eyebrows and it earns him a broken grin. "Well, you're not that bad with selflessness either," the whisper is soft and relenting. He'd corrected his mistake and risked his life for her, for the people she loves, and earned a near fatal injury as a reward. He deserves a little praise.

"Only for some people," he answers back just as quietly. Because it's a truth neither of them have the energy to deal with right now. They both know he should have said only for one person.

She sighs again, and hands him the bottle as penance. Because even though he's broken and confused, he's more then she deserves tonight. More than she deserves a lot of the time. And it's painful to admit the comfort she feels in the depth of his feelings for her. That he'd do anything for her. That death would be a sacrifice he'd be more than willing to make to keep her safe. It's the scariest thing she knows about him. But also the sweetest.

It's for this that she closes the distance and lays her head on his chest. Quiet and without comment. Because she doesn't care whether it's okay or not, she can't help but love both Salvatore brothers. And that love, no matter how naive or misguided, will keep them both safe until morning.

He wakes her up at dawn. And together they watch as the sun peaks over the horizon. A blazing beacon signaling the beginning of a new day. The ceaseless cycles starting over.

A sunset and a sunrise. She can't help but see the poetic symmetry. And after she sleeps off the booze it will make her feel sad. But right now, thanks to the soft buzzing in her brain, all she can do is smile and close her eyes again.

They could both use a do over.


End file.
